"I suppose," Larkin answered. "Alcohol though? I might understand things like electricity, iron and things like that. Or the way ships are shaped. The fact that all species might want to see out the front through glass. But beer? There are a million things that are familiar, but don’t necessarily seem like they would translate across species. It's just so much to take in."
I smiled, Larkin was struggling with the same questions I had.
"It's probably because we're both from Sol," I said. "But I'm with Larkin on this one, Todd. I feel like I'm justifying why it makes sense that things are familiar."
"The human psyche is fantastic in its ability to adapt to new stimulus," Jonathan said. "We've observed that humans from Earth are dismissing or assimilating changes presented to them within moments of observation."
"Example?" I asked.
"Describe the skin of a Golenti," he said.
"Not that much different than human," I said. "Dark gray, has a rough texture and covers their body, just like our skin does."
"Golenti skin resembles stone much more than it does human tissue," Jonathan said. "The only similarity is that it covers the host. The stone skin is a covering that develops over time."
"A better example is you, Jonathan," Larkin said.
"Fantastic, Ms. Bray," Jonathan said. "Why?"
"There are no obvious physical similarities between us," she said.
"And yet, Liam – and Loose Nuts for that matter – has accepted us into his tribe almost from the point we were discovered."
"And now we're back to Todd's point," I said. "Success from cooperation. We would not have survived without Jonathan's help. Our trust was well placed."
"The opposite is also true," Jonathan agreed. "You have come to our rescue more than once."
"Great conversation and all," Tabby interrupted. "But I'm going to need a navigation plan pretty soon."
"Bhusal," I said, pinching coordinates for a transfer station in an industrial park within the city called Bhusal. I flicked the coordinates to Tabby, knowing she could work out a nav plan. "Nick has a shipping company meeting us there. Apparently, they've been on standby for over a ten-day. They're really excited by his bot designs."
"Construction and stevedore bots?" Tabby asked. "They're hardly his designs. He filched the intellectual property from Mars Protectorate."
"And now they're ours," I said, not the least bit abashed by the direction Nick was taking. He'd negotiated fair and square for the rights to the designs. "Even better, secure docking in Bhusal is expensive, but we have use of it for twenty hours, on Nick. What do you say? Hunter, Larkin, you up for a little bar crawling?"
"What of the mission?" Larkin asked.
"Whoa, there, Bray," Hunter said. "If Captain offers a night out, don't ruin it for everyone else. Haven't you had enough of scrubbing O2 filters and checking gray water levels?"
"Maybe you've forgotten what we're up against. Do you think the Kroerak are taking a night off for beers?" Larkin asked, her voice rising. The petty officer, with her wavy blonde hair and fair skin was pretty by most standards, although I wasn't dumb enough to say that to Tabby. When she got annoyed, however, her fair complexion gave her away. Todd was clearly pushing her buttons as a blotchy red blush had already crept up her neck and onto her cheeks.
"Take it down a notch, kids," I said. "This is one of those moments when we get to have our beer and drink it too. Our contact works out of a bar called the Nexus."
"Our selection of industrial parks was not accidental," Jonathan said. "The Nexus is located two kilometers from where we'll set down. I've taken the liberty of manufacturing hooded cloaks. The weather over Bhusal is rainy, which is to our advantage. While there are many species on Abeline, humans will stand out. It is advisable that while on the street you keep your hoods raised."
"I am not comfortable leaving Gaylon Brighton unmanned," Sendrei said.
"We are leaving a contingent behind," Jonathan said. "Gaylon Brighton will be secure."
"Who’s staying?" Sendrei asked.
"Twelve from our Phentera group," Jonathan said.
"I retract my objection, Captain," Sendrei said, his voice suddenly serious. Ever since he and Jonathan had spent a couple of months depending on each other for survival aboard the Kroerak ship, his respect and insight for the alien collective had done nothing but grow.
"Check out the surface of Abeline," Tabby interrupted. "Tell me if you can see any part of it that isn't covered by city."
My eyes flitted between the holographic rendering of the planet that sat just off Tabby's left side and what I could see through the armor-glass view screen ahead of us. Wherever the planet was cast in shadow, lights dotted the surface. Tabby was right, from the planet’s northern pole all the way to the southern end, there didn’t appear to be any open spaces, large bodies of water, or any geographical markers other than cityscape. Sure, there was variation in the density of the lights, but nothing at all biological visible from this distance.
"How in the world do they feed the population?" Hunter asked.
"Abeline imports eighty percent of food consumed by the population," Jonathan said. "Food production, however, exceeds the population's caloric consumption. Growth is limited to high value crops which are all cultivated in enclosed plants where environmental factors are strictly controlled."
"Let me guess, the property value is too high to actually grow crops," Hunter replied. "What a crazy place."
"That is a logical conclusion, Mr. Hunter," Jonathan answered. "According to public information, the amount of capital required to acquire the use of even a small amount of land places it well beyond practical limits for growing ordinary crops."
"With all that import/export business, no wonder they're interested in Nick's stevedore bots," I said. "I tell you, that guy is always one step ahead."
"You might want to take a seat," Tabby said. "Abeline has given us permission to enter Bhusal airspace and they didn't give us much of a window. I'm going to take us in by hand."
Without further warning, she banked hard to port and surged down toward the dark side of Abeline. We descended peacefully for a few minutes until flashing collision trajectories started popping onto the forward vid screen as the traffic increased. Unlike the semi-controlled lanes around Mandhan City, there appeared to be no rhyme or reason in the vehicle flow. Ships of varying sizes darted here and there, dodging each other, often with only a dozen meters to spare. I struggled with a desire to take the controls and had to remind myself that Tabby was every bit the pilot I was.
"We're gonna die," Hunter exclaimed, when a ship passed above us with a very narrow margin.
"Stow it, crewman," I said, chuckling. Tabby had a rhythm to her flying which I was in tune with. I could see her lining up moves well in advance. Most likely in response to Hunter's exclamation, Tabby twisted Gaylon Brighton around in a spiral as she accelerated. Flames of violently compressed atmosphere heralded our arrival and the ship bucked as Tabby fought to keep to her intended path.
Done with showboating, Tabby snapped the stick back and leveled out our flight at six thousand meters above the planet's surface. We'd formally and spectacularly entered Bhusal's airspace. Ironically, traffic lanes popped up on the vid-screens and, sure enough, Tabby had us locked in to the exact spot we’d been assigned. The cityscape below primarily consisted of low buildings, most dark, except for regularly-spaced security lights.
"Local time is 0030," Sendrei announced. "Looks like the streets are rolled up for the night."
"Industrial park," Tabby said. "We're up there." She pinched the coordinates of our destination and tossed them forward. My AI recognized the gesture and highlighted our destination in a cluster of buildings. As if in response to her action, a bright green light flashed three times and went dark.
"They're signaling us," Larkin said, obviously having seen the same thing we had.
"Copy that. Bray, Hunter, go aft and suit up with the cloaks Jonathan replicated. Also,
I want you both to check out a flechette pistol. I just got a ping from Nick's contact. They're waiting at the loading bay," I said.
"Aye, aye," Larkin responded and unclipped from the seat where she'd been sitting.
"You got this, Tabbs?" I asked.
"Roger that."
I grinned around the room. "Sendrei, let's go make some money."
The two of us followed Bray and Hunter back to the armory, picking up the dark cloaks Jonathan had manufactured.
"Ever read 'The Hobbit'?" Sendrei asked, pulling the cloak around his shoulders.
"Book?" I responded, my AI showing a picture of an ancient text and a vid that had been produced roughly around the same time. I furrowed my brow as I watched a squat human with furry feet running through grass, wearing a hooded cloak.
He strapped a steel sword to his back, its scabbard well hidden by the cloak. "Never mind."
I picked a new handgun from the rack. It was replicated from a recent piece of intellectual property Munay had procured. The owner of the IP was Springfield Armory, a North American firm. During the short war with the Kroerak, they'd released their IP to be freely used by any military. Since this mission was still on point, we'd been grandfathered in. The handgun was called a 1911. I hadn’t had a chance to test-fire it yet, but it felt comfortably at home in my hand. From the rifle rack, I grabbed a blaster rifle, handed it to Sendrei and picked a second one for myself.
A slight jarring transmitted through the deck, alerting us to the fact that we'd set down. Sendrei and I joined Larkin and Todd aft in the cargo area, which was over two-thirds full of crates.
"Liam, we have company," Tabby said. "I'm shutting her down."
"Copy that, Tabbs." I placed my hand against the security panel that allowed the cargo ramp to start lowering. Holding an electronic pad out to Bray, I nodded. “You know how to run a cargo transfer, Larkin?”
"Try being an Petty Officer without," she said, accepting the pad with a quick smile.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask you, what do you think of the coffee now that we're cleaning the pipes out regularly?" I asked. The difference in taste was obvious to me, but I wasn't sure if she'd notice.
"The difference is quite remarkable," she said. "All we needed to do was keep the machine cleaner? When I served in the Navy, we scrubbed those pots all the time and ran soapy water through. Not sure I understand what we did differently this time."
"Coffee has an oil that isn’t easily broken down with soap and water," I said. "That solution I gave you is the perfect antidote."
"Someone should tell the North American naval brass," she said.
Our conversation was interrupted by the appearance of four humanoid figures who were behind the ship. A heavy rain poured down and I couldn't discern what species they might be, beyond the fact that they were slightly wider, shorter, and had pinched faces resembling a rat.
"Captain Hoffen, welcome to Bhusal." Over my AI's translation, I heard a high-pitched squeaking that did nothing to dispel the impression of a rat.
"Greetings," I answered, holding my hand out for a shake. I'd long since learned that translation units had the capacity to communicate common gestures. Ratman accepted my hand loosely and reciprocated the shake. "Much appreciated."
"We are most excited to receive the test units from Loose Nuts Corporation," he continued, his squeaking a bit distracting, as was the heavy rain.
"Would you like a demonstration?" I asked. "Just tell Petty Officer Bray where you'd like the crates and stand back."
"Oh, no," he answered, concerned. "The units are too precious to risk while rain falls."
"However you want to do it," I said. "We'll bring the crates to the end of the loading ramp and you can do with them what you see fit."
"Very gracious," he answered, bowing and gesturing. A crowd of similarly shaped rat-faced humanoids scurried from beneath the overhang five meters from where we'd set down.
"Petty Officer, just make sure we sign 'em all off before they're on the deck," I said.
"Roger that, Captain," she said, as three of the rat-men walked up the ramp, intent on picking up the crates.
"No, no," I said, holding my free hand up and standing in their way. "We'll bring them to you."
My movement was sufficient to make them unsure of their steps and they held up.
"Petty Officer, show 'em," I said.
"Roger," she answered and tapped on the pad she held.
Surprising the rat-men, one of the stevedore bots we had lashed to the cargo bay's bulkhead freed itself, swung over and grasped the first crate. With all the similarities we’d found between cultures, I was surprised no one here had developed something similar to our bots. The machines were nothing more than an anti-gravity unit with long bar-like arms that could either slide beneath a crate or grasp it on the sides.
With load in tow, the stevedore bot paused next to Petty Officer Bray long enough for her to bump the ident on the crate and record it in the transfer log. The rat-men stumbled backward down the ramp as the bot slowly moved toward them, beeping a warning because they were standing in the way. With a clear path, the first stevedore bot lowered the crate to the deck, released it and turned back to the hold, passing the second bot now laden with a similar crate. It didn't take long for the home team to understand the rules of the game and they moved to the growing pile, lifting the crates by hand and jogging back through the rain.
For thirty minutes, the scene repeated itself until the hold was finally empty with the exception of three larger crates, the design of which made me smile. I hadn't realized we'd packed the Popeyes (mechanized infantry suits).
"Is that everything, Petty Officer?" I asked, already knowing it was, having checked the bill of lading.
"Aye, Captain."
The original rat-faced man approached and we exchanged electronic acknowledgements of successful transfer.
"I don't know about you all," I said, when the Bhusal natives were finally gone. "But I'm starting to feel a bit thirsty."
"One moment," Jonathan said as he joined us in the cargo bay. He walked over to a man-sized crate that was held fast against the starboard bulkhead. The side of the crate swung open and I did a double take. Seemingly asleep was another figure, identical to Jonathan. Jonathan walked up to his doppelganger and a halo appeared around both of them. The projection we knew to be our Jonathan dissipated, leaving behind a floating, smooth black egg-shaped object about the size of a human head. As the floating egg and the boxed mannequin came in contact, the sleeping figure's eyes fluttered open.
"That's not weird," I said, turning back to the aft cargo hatch that had closed, locking it.
"We felt it would reduce confusion to limit our occupation to only one humanoid host at a time. We also believe a corporeal form in an unfamiliar environment is desirable." Jonathan's voice came from the figure that stepped from the crate and I struggled to rectify the fact that he'd moved residences. Well at least most of them had.
"Might have been easier if we'd been drinking," I said, chuckling.
Chapter 11
Information Drop
We'd landed in a terminal at the edge of an industrial park. The loading dock was at ground level and surrounded by soaring stacks of private hangars. The opening Tabby had dropped into was more than wide enough for three Gaylon Brightons. Upon off-loading Nick's cargo and verifying receipt of payment, we'd received instructions regarding which of the myriad hangars had been reserved for us.
"Hang on, folks," I said as I lifted Gaylon Brighton from the dock and spun slowly to orient her tail to the mostly-full honeycomb of hangar bays. As much as I loved my older ships, Hotspur and Sterra’s Gift, I had to admit that Gaylon Brighton was as smooth as silk when it came to tight maneuvering. With excellent visibility provided by the ship's sensor packages and an assist from the AI, I backed in. The landing struts flexed as we settled and I found it difficult to tell we'd actually come to a rest.
"You're getting better at
that," Tabby quipped.
I smirked. We'd always competed when it came to sailing, and backing into a berth had occasionally been a place where I'd, let's say, marked up a few bulkheads.
"Backward is stupid," I said. "Everyone ready?" I pulled the cape's hood over my head and whisked past the milling crew.
"Flechettes still okay?" Hunter asked.
"Weapons are acceptable within Bhusal as long as they are within plain sight," Sendrei said. "It is also allowed to cover them by coat while transiting a public walkway."
Once we exited the airlock, I turned back, placing my hand on the security pad. Inadvertently, I looked through the glass. Jonathan's hovering, egg-shaped twin seemed to be staring back out at us.
"Are your Phentera boys going to be okay, Jonathan?" I asked. "They look lonely."
"I assure you. They are satisfied with their role," he said. "It is unusual for our collective to experience physical separation. They are, as you might say, seeing us off."
"Aww," Tabby said, wrapping an arm around Jonathan's shoulders. "That's kind of cute, if you think about it."
I chuckled as a range of emotions crossed Jonathan's face until he finally resumed his usual, passive gaze. The collective could quickly process and understand new situations, but some of the subtleties of human expression still caused them confusion.
At the back of the ship's berth we found a locked door which opened after a security challenge. We crossed through into a rounded hallway that encircled the entire docking terminal, giving access to the individual bays. Regular openings on the outside wall provided a view of the city, and misty rain gusted in, pelting us.
"This way," I said, following the light blue arrows that seemed to be painted on the walkway, but were actually projected onto my eye. It was getting late and I was concerned we might miss our opportunity to meet Jonathan's contact.
"I recommend against the lift system," Jonathan said as we approached metal doors. "The use of gravity technology is limited within Aeratroas region and this building utilizes a mechanical lift."
Pursuit of the Bold Page 12
